


My sweet revenge will be yours for the taking (it's in the making)

by brothebro



Series: The Bear, the Wolf and the Sorceress [4]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Canon-Typical Violence, Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Gen, Gratuitous Swearing, Jaskier really hates vampires, Mild Gore, Monsters, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Pre-Relationship, Secretly Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, Sparring, Unreliable Narrator, Vampires, but geralt doesn't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28052910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brothebro/pseuds/brothebro
Summary: Back in camp and far away from civilization and all that comes with it (mainly a mob of angry men and women wanting to flay the bard alive) Geralt decides to broach the subject of teaching Jaskier a move or two.“Can’t save you every time you stick your sausage in the wrong pantry,” Geralt says, being for the first time the one to start the conversation."Ah, 'tis the curse of being irresistible," Jaskier places a hand on his forehead, theatrically. Geralt cocks an eyebrow unamused and the bard clicks his tongue, "You don't need to save me you know, I'm rather capable of saving myself."Or: Geralt finds out that Jaskier is very capable in a fight and has a personal vendetta against vampires-Set between chapter 4 and chapter 5 ofAll the world I've seen before me passing by.Can be read as a standalone.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Bear, the Wolf and the Sorceress [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677910
Comments: 14
Kudos: 153





	My sweet revenge will be yours for the taking (it's in the making)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome!  
> If you decide to read this before [All the world I've seen before me passing by](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23052019/chapters/55133164) know that Jaskier used to be a witcher who got himself cursed and is now, seemingly, completely human. 
> 
> Enjoy :D

It’s been almost a year since Geralt first begrudgingly allowed the foppish blabbering bard to start following him on his travels. Jaskier is a real piece of work, always talking about everything and nothing, about deep philosophical questions one moment and the next about bread. 

Geralt thinks the boy -- for he is a boy in his eyes -- is in his early twenties or maybe mid-twenties at best. He surely acts the part. Yet, he has a strange feeling, when he gazes into those cornflower blue eyes of Jaskier and they look too wise, too knowing. When he asks a question and the answer is so serious it throws him off. It’s those moments he gets the feeling the bard is far older than he appears to be, far wiser amidst his foolishness. 

But that can’t be, as humans live but a fleeting life compared to witchers. Too short. Too fragile. 

Still, he continues to humour the man, intrigued by his duality, and allows him to trudge behind him as he travels across the Continent one contract at a time. 

Geralt snaps out of his thoughts when the very distinct cry for help reaches his ears. 

“Geraaaaaaalt!” the bard cries out, dangling from a second-floor window, hanging with his hands from the flowerpot for dear life. 

Fuck. Geralt suppresses a groan of exasperation. The damn bard has gone and fucking slept with a taken person again. Again. And after Geralt has told him time and time again to be more careful with his… sausage hiding game. 

Nevertheless, as many times before, Geralt rushes to catch the bard falling from the window, while an enraged spouse throws all sorts of knick-knacks on them both. 

It’s that moment the witcher decides to teach the promiscuous bard self-defence. If not for Jaskier’s sake, for his own peace of mind. 

Back in camp and far away from civilization and all that comes with it (mainly a mob of angry men and women wanting to flay the bard alive) Geralt decides to broach the subject of teaching Jaskier a move or two. 

“Can’t save you every time you stick your sausage in the wrong pantry,” Geralt says, being for the first time the one to start the conversation. 

"Ah, 'tis the curse of being irresistible," Jaskier places a hand on his forehead, theatrically. Geralt cocks an eyebrow unamused and the bard clicks his tongue, "You don't need to save me you know, I'm rather capable of saving myself."

"Right," the witcher rolls his eyes. If he were so capable as he says, he wouldn't need to scream Geralt's name atop of his lungs at every minor inconvenience. "Get up," Geralt says, "I'll teach you to defend yourself. Have you handled a blade before, bard?" 

A peal of laughter escapes Jaskier's lips, and soon enough he's doubling over laughing uncontrollably, loud and unreservedly. 

"Gods, Geralt. And they say wolves don't have a sense of humour. Do I know how to handle a blade, you say? Of course, I do! How do you think I managed to stay alive on the road for years before I met you?" 

Years? He's been travelling for years? That can't be. He doesn't believe a word Jaskier just said. 

"Let's spar," he says. What better way to find out the skill of the man than sparring? 

"I am rather tired."

Geralt huffs, "Excuses, bard? Really?" 

"You weren't the one involved in rigorous love-making my dear witcher. That man was a wild one, let me tell you." 

Geralt grimaces.

"Alright, alright, I won't go into details, I promise," Jaskier rises from his bedroll lazily, reaching for his boot, from which he procures a simple dagger.

Since when-?

Geralt doesn't get the chance to complete his thought and Jaskier is suddenly upon him, agile footing, sure and confident and dagger held like he aims to strike a killing move. 

Geralt barely has the time to backstep, and pull his own dagger out of its holster by his right hip, deflecting the swift strike. 

"Ohoho! You're good, wolf!" Jaskier ducks when Geralt swipes at his chest, knees skidding on the mud and dagger dancing between his hands before he jabs at the witcher's midriff. "Aaaand, ya dead." 

The bard gets up and dusts his now very dirty pale blue pants, while Geralt is frantically trying to calm his erratic heartbeat. 

Fuck. 

What the fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Wanna try swords next?" Jaskier asks bored, a yawn escaping his lips, "axes maybe? Halberds? Polearms?"

Geralt blinks in disbelief while Jaskier rolls his eyes and chuckles lightly. “Where were you taught?” the witcher finally asks when he’s recovered enough from the initial shock of losing to the young bard in a knife fight, of all things. 

Jaskier shrugs and takes out his lute, strumming a chord softly, “School? For the record, I’m proficient with the crossbow as well. Though my last one, regrettably, got stolen from me not long before I met you.” 

A sigh of relief escapes Geralt’s lips. He didn’t realise how much on edge Jaskier’s wellbeing has brought him to. In any case, even if the bard is only good with the dagger (Geralt refuses to believe a human so young would know how to wield this whole array of weapons Jaskier listed before) it’s still enough to bring the witcher some peace of mind. 

So Geralt hums, a ghost of a smile adorning his lips. 

* * *

It’s not long before all goes to hell. 

Geralt has taken a contract on a zeugl somewhere in rural Redania, which is a bit strange given that zeugls are known to inhabit the sewers of big cities and not abandoned ruins, but all evidence is pointing on that particular breed of creature. It’s not even the strangest misplaced monster he has ever had the displeasure to go after so he doesn’t think much about it. 

It’s supposed to be straightforward. Go in the ruins. Kill the zeugl. Get out with proof and get paid. 

Yet Jaskier insists that the contract is a scam, a bunch of shit-lies and ah yeah, not a zeugl but a nest of Alps. Which leads to a whole one-sided conversation Geralt isn’t sure how to process. 

“It’s not vampires, bard,” Geralt huffs for the tenth time, rummaging through his pack to get all the decoctions and potions necessary to eradicate a zeugl for good. 

“Oh, but you’ll find that it is,” Jaskier crosses his arms and straightens his back, “I’m rarely wrong about those pests, believe me. Alps sometimes mimic the behaviour of certain monsters to avoid detection. Or to draw in more prey. Now, I don’t know why they went for zeugl of all things, but I’m absolutely certain you’ll find vampires in the ruins.”

“That’s absurd. I’m a witcher, Jaskier, and I’ve never heard of this before.”

“Just because you haven’t heard of it, it doesn’t mean it’s not true.” 

Geralt rolls his eyes and fastens the potions on his potion-holster by his hip. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake Geralt, at least take a bottle of Black Blood with you. I would loath to lose your fine company so soon.” 

“Fine,” Geralt groans and reaches for the very much unneeded potion which he proceeds to put on his potion-holster right next to the potent poison meant to stun the creature. “Now stay here. I’ll be back with the zeugl’s head.” 

“I’ll come with you. What? Don’t look at me like that, I’ll stay out of harm’s way. I promise.” 

“You won’t enter the ruins.”

“I won’t. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

It takes less than half an hour to reach the ruins. Geralt smells the area and is entirely unsurprised when the stench of human waste and rotting food reaches his nose. Zeugl. Like the contract described. The ruins must be where the primitive sewage system the little town has, leads their waste.

“Nasty,” Jaskier remarks, pinching his nose with two fingers. 

Geralt readies his sword and enters the crumbling once-a-fort ready to prove the bard wrong. 

It’s eerily quiet in the dimly lit, waste-infested, corridors of the ruined building; no slithering of foul tentacles, no otherworldly screeches. No, nothing. 

Fuck. Zeugls are not known for their brains. They don’t usually hide. The moment they smell a living being gaining on them, they attack. Yet, there’s absolutely nothing that would indicate there’s something here. 

Geralt keeps his eyes peeled, his ears wide open, for every slight movement, for every faint noise. 

A crunch echoes in the hall he enters. 

Geralt looks down on his feet and amongst the rubbish, the putrid excrements of the nearby populace are the remains of an unfortunate human. A man, Geralt surmises from the frame of the rotting, maggot-infested carcass. 

Yet another strange thing. 

A zeugl would have picked those bones clean. Which means-

A cacophony of screeches echoes in the hall. Multitudes of red eyes shine in the low light, blinking out of sync. Wherever he looks red, red and more red. Fu-

Geralt throws a quick Quen up as countless bat-like creatures descend from the high ceiling claws extended and ugly monstrous fangs in full display. 

Fleders.

Shit. Fuck. They screech again the high frequency of the sound piercing Geralt’s sensitive ears, disorienting him. He doesn’t have the time to down his bottle of Black Blood. Fuck. He’s done for.

Geralt slashes and dodges in irregular, frenzied movements, adrenaline pumping in his bloodstream. But the beasts are too many, too fast. 

Blood oozes from the shallow wounds they managed to inflict. It stings and serves to further disorient the witcher. 

To top it all of, among the swarm of Fleders three deathly pale and naked female forms emerge, cackling maniacally. 

“You’re done for, you silly, silly man,” the one in the middle, a woman-- no an Alp-- laughs and extends her clawed hand. The Fleders stop mid-air and move to encircle the white-haired witcher. 

That’s his chance. 

Geralt downs the Black Blood without a second thought. Now at least when they feast upon his body they’ll fucking poison themselves. He might die here --he’s not naive enough to believe he can make it out of here alive-- but the beasts will die with him. 

He only hopes Jaskier will make it out alive. That he won’t go in the ruins searching for him. He was right. In the end, the bard was right and the witcher so horribly wrong. Fuck, what a thought that is. It would be almost funny if the situation wasn’t so terrible.

Geralt watches as the Alps enter the circle, long dark hair framing their alluring forms, lips red, stained with blood. He readies his sword, steadies his footing and prepares to shoot an Igni at the beasts, once they approach enough. And then-

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice echoes down the corridor that leads to the fetid hall. 

That fool- 

Geralt uses the split second the Alps turn towards the noise to strike. He forms the sign of Igni on the closest one and thrusts his silver sword on the one standing right of her. The Fleders screech alarmed, wings flapping and limbs swiping in random directions. 

Geralt prays to every god he’s heard of that Jaskier will stay put. 

But of course, no gods ever listen to the prayers of Geralt of Rivia. 

At the corner of his eye, the witcher sees the bard, stalking forward in confident strides, breeches muddied to the knee with all sorts of filth. A silver dagger held strong in his grip. His expression is what can only be described as  _ furious _ . 

“FUCKING FILTH!” the bard growls and lunges forward, cutting with his dagger expertly at the Fleders that lay between him and Geralt. 

Geralt uses the distraction to off the remaining two alps, jabbing at the uninjured one with his sword when it swipes at him with its claws, narrowly missing his nose. His blade meets the creature’s stomach and dark ichor oozes from the wound before it falls motionless on the ground. 

The one still in flames from Geralt’s previous Igni snarls and bares its teeth at him, the once beautiful face morphing into a scrunched up bat-like snout. Its fangs connect with Geralt’s arm as he raises it to cast an Aard. The creature coughs up poisoned blood and staggers backwards before the force of the sign sends it crashing to a nearby wall. 

Jaskier, meanwhile, is yelling all sorts of imaginative curses, his bright blue eyes burning with fury, dancing around the remaining Fleders, slicing and cutting. Geralt gasps in awe of the bard downing vampire after vampire, the dagger seemingly an extension of his arm. 

Geralt kills the remaining Fleders, with quick precise swings of his blade. 

Heaving Jaskier stabs an already dead vampire repeatedly with his dagger as if it has personally offended him. Bathed in the creature’s blood, he’s a sight simultaneously awe-inspiring and terrifying. 

“Jaskier, enough. It’s already dead.”

“I don’t-” a stab,” -fucking-” stab, “CARE!” and another stab. "Fucking vampires, pests of the world!" 

The bard locks eyes with the witcher and rises to his feet, wiping his dagger on his now ruined doublet. There is so much fury, so much hatred in the Jaskier’s eyes that Geralt wonders if the bard had any previous encounters with the creatures. And what that encounter entailed. 

“I told you,” Jaskier breathes out, moving a hand to comb matted blooded strands of hair from his eyes, “it was fucking vampires. I told you. And you didn’t fucking listen.”

“I know,” Geralt mutters, eyes downcast, “I know. Thank you and sorry.”

Jaskier laughs, an almost manic tint in his voice, “Well, they’re all bloody dead and we’re alive and that’s enough. Though, those bastards dared ruin my lovely doublet,” he stabs a dead Fleder again, “And that’s unforgivable.”

“I’ll buy you a new one,” the words leave Geralt’s mouth before he can think. 

Jaskier huffs, “But I’ll get to choose, because quite frankly your taste in clothing is utterly banal.” 

Geralt hums in response before he utters the question that’s swirling on his mind, “You’ve fought vampires before. How-”

“Let a man have some secrets, my friend,” Jaskier smiles a pained smile at him and turns away. “It’s too soon,” he hears him whisper, the salty tang of tears mixing with the repulsive odour of waste and blood and rotting corpses. “Too soon.” 

Geralt silently promises that day, to never dispute Jaskier’s knowledge on vampires again and to never ask the man about his past with the creatures. Jaskier will tell him when and if he wants. And that is fine. 

**Author's Note:**

> This has been on my mind for quite a while now and I'm glad I finally got to writing it  
> Hope yall enjoyed it! If you did, feel free to leave me a kudos or a comment <3


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